The Webbs We Weave
by David001
Summary: What happened after Harm and Mac got into the taxi at the end of ATW2. Lots of angst in this one.


Title: The Webbs We Weave

Author: David

Rating: T

Summary: What I think could have happened after the end of ATW Part 2.

Completed: May 6, 2005

She sat an arm's length away, but she might as well have been on the other side of the world. Harm didn't know what to think, and he sure as hell didn't know what to say. When he'd resigned his commission it had all be so clear: He needed to go to Paraguay to make sure Mac was safe–the consequences of what would happen afterward hadn't even entered his mind. It had all been so... simple.

Simple. She had once said that he made simple things too complicated; this time the simple thing had turned out to be more complicated than he could've ever imagined. _How could this happen? What did I do wrong? _Nothing came to mind, but that didn't mean he hadn't screwed things up–_again_.

Harm knew it was wrong to blame himself for every failure in his life, but when it came to Mac, he just couldn't bring himself to put the blame on her–at least not all of it. She had lived such a difficult life–so had he, but her's was worse; at least in his mind, and she'd been there for him through many of the most traumatic moments in his life. She'd had no one to help her through the early years.

This time was no different. She had been blown-up, threatened, and abused at the hands of Sadiq Fahd; both mentally and physically. And there had been no one but Clay to help her get through it. The fact that she'd been forced to listen to them torture Clay for hours on end just added to her pain–not that it made it any easier to see her kiss him!

That wasn't fair; he didn't own her. As he had reminded her on numerous occasions: her personal life was her business, not his. This time he had hoped that maybe her personal life could have been part of his life, too, but as with everything else in their long and stormy relationship, it had come down to timing. And like always, his timing sucked.

Harm leaned forward, resting his elbows on the back of the seat in front of him, and buried his face in his hands. It wasn't supposed to turn out this way. It wasn't fair. He was here, and she was safe; now everything was supposed to go back to the way it had been before. He paused at that: back to the way it had been before. Well, he supposed that was impossible now. She would go back to JAG, and he would go do–something.

He had never thought about what he'd given up to come here; only that she was in danger. Maybe if he'd been able to get more than a few hour sleep a night in the days leading up to all of this he might have been able to think things through; in the end the only thing that had mattered to him was getting here as fast as he could so he could make sure she was safe.

He sat back as he realized that there was more to it than that. He wanted her to be safe, sure, but he wanted her to be safe _with him_. Now she was safe–with Clay_. Damn it, I'm the one that loves her!_

That thought left him cold. It was something he had always known, deep-down, but had never been able to admit. Not to himself, and defiantly not to her. It wasn't really a big surprise. The reality was he had probably loved her nearly as long as he'd known her.

The conversation at the taxi stand flashed through his mind. The words she'd said were burned forever into his memory: _Things are never going to work out between us. Because we both want to be on top, and that's physically and emotionally impossible. _

He knew he need to be in control, but not in this. He didn't care who was '_on top_' as long as he was there with her. Why couldn't she understand that? Harm frowned to himself. That was a stupid question when he thought about it. Given his behavior towards her whenever 'this thing' between them had come up, what other choice did she have.

So, here they were, riding together to the airport to catch a plane back to the states, and yet, they were as far apart as two people could be. He sighed quietly, trying to urge his personal daemons and doubts back down so that he could have a few seconds of clear thought. Harm looked over towards her casually; she was staring blankly out the passenger-side window. His mind filled again with thoughts of her, of longings for her and wishes for the future. He turned away to watch the darkened streets of Ciudad del Este pass by his window. Even being in the same car with her was clouding his mind.

Could he just let her go? Just walk away and let Clay have her without even trying to fight it? His mind screamed 'no', but in his heart he knew that if it meant that she would be happy, he would do it. He may have been emotionally crippled, but he knew that if you truly loved someone, sometimes you had to let them go.

The only problem was that it was his mind that said she wanted Clay; she had said that there was nothing between the two of them. He wished he could believe that, but each time he tried to reconcile those thoughts they were pushed aside by images of Mac kissing a battered Spook in the front seat of a beat- up Land Cruiser.

He chased the image from his mind. Harm was tired of trying to figure her out, tired of fighting with her. If he was going to let her go forever he needed to be certain that there was nothing left between them. Or at least that she felt nothing for him–he knew he would never be able to get past her if it really was '_never_'.

He turned towards her and spoke, his voice even and strong, even though he felt like he might swallow his tongue. "Mac, can we talk? Please?"

She never even turned her head when she answered. "I don't think there's really much left to talk about, Harm." She sighed. "I think we talked about everything we needed to last night." She finally faced him. "Don't you?" She turned back to the window.

The resignation in her voice was evident. Harm didn't miss it. "No, Mac," he replied. "I don't think we have. Hell, I think we still have things to discuss from five minutes ago."

She snorted derisively. "Like what?"

Steeling himself against the pain he knew was coming, he spoke. "How about, '_never_', Mac?" His voice was soft, barely above a whisper, and when she didn't respond for several seconds, Harm thought that maybe she hadn't heard him. He was just about to speak again when she answered.

"I meant what I said, Harm," she said quietly. "I can't do this with you anymore."

Though he had been ready for it, that pain that came was still a shock. It gripped his guts and squeezed. _This is what it must feel like to get gut-kicked._ He turned away from her to gather his thoughts; this still didn't answer the questions that he needed answered.

"Mac, please talk to me, I don't want things to end like this. We need to talk things out. What do I need to do to make things right between us."

She shrugged, and turned to look out the window.

"Mac, please?"

She ignored him completely, lying her head against the glass and staring into the deepening night.

"Mac?" he prompted, not willing to give up.

Nothing.

"Sarah?"

Her head snapped towards him, anger flooding her dark eyes. "No Harm," she said. "You don't get to call me that."

He sat back as if slapped. "Why not?"

She folded her arms across her chest. "Because," was all she said.

"That's not an answer, Mac."

"Well, it's the only one you are going to get." She turned away to stare blankly out the window again.

"Why? Why won't you answer me?" He tried to suppress the rising anger in his voice. "And you accuse me of running away."

She turned back to him, the anger that had been in ehr eyes before had been replace with rage. "Don't, Harm," her voice had never sounded so cold to him. "Don't you _dare_ go there."

"Why not?" He didn't even bother trying to mask the anger this time. "You can run away from all the tough questions, but I can't. Is that it, Sarah?"

He used her given name hoping to get a powerful response; he wasn't disappointed. She lunged at him, turning to slap him across the face with her left hand. He saw it coming, but made no move to stop it; it couldn't hurt any worse than the pain he was already feeling. His head snapped back at her blow, and stars popped like tiny fireworks behind his eyes. He could hear her ragged breath near his face as he blinked his eyes trying to banish the exploding stars.

"Damn it, Harm! You don't know what you're talking about," he voice sounded dangerous. "Just leave it alone."

She say back with a sigh so loud it was almost a grunt, her arms folded across her chest, staring strait ahead.

Harm touched his cheek–it felt flushed and he wondered if it would bruise–and ran his fingers through his hair.

His anger was gone; replace by a resigned understanding.

"This is about Clay, isn't it?" he murmured.

She turned her head slowly. "What?"

Giving in to the truth, Harm pushed on. "I can't call you 'Sarah' because that's what Clay calls you."

She didn't reply so he continued. "I couldn't give you what you wanted fast enough to suit you, so you chose another," his voice was flat and emotionless. "This is Mic Brumby all over again."

Harm turned to stare into her eyes. They had grown into two, dark liquid pools; heavy with unshed tears.

He instantly felt remorse for what he had said, but before he could take it back her eyes hardened. If his heart hadn't already broken he was sure that look would have killed him. As it was, it was just another dull ache stacked on top of many others.

She never said a word; just turned away from him and said something to their driver in Spanish. His was a bit rusty and he missed it. Damn, her and her languages! The driver nodded and angled the cab towards the curb. _What the hell is she doing now?_

When the taxi stopped at the roadside, she grabbed her coat from the seat between them and opened the door, swinging her legs out.

_Oh, my, God,_ he thought, _she's leaving._ Harm snatched her wrist before she was fully out of the car.

"Mac, where are you going? I'm sorry. Please, get back in."

She turned to face him–her face betraying no emotion–and calmly pried his fingers away from her wrist.

"You better get going, Harm," she said softly. "You'll miss your flight."

She turned to leave. He was desperate now, and he leaned over to snatch the end of her coat sleeve before she could walk away. She tugged at it ineffectively a few times before turning back to stare at his hand.

"Harm, let go," she said.

He shook his head. "Get back in the car, Mac. Please." He didn't like begging, but he was past the point of caring. "I promise I won't say anything more, just get back in the car."

She smiled, but it held no emotion. "You know I can't do that, Harm."

She tossed the coat onto the seat where it slipped off the edge to hang limply from his hand. Closing the door quickly, she turned and walked away without looking back.

"Mac!" he screamed, but she was gone. _How the hell do I fix this? Every time I open my mouth I just make things worse!_ His resolve hardened–she's not getting away that easily.

Harm straitened and leaned over the front seat, looking at the meter. Reaching into his pocket he pulled out a small packet of bills. Stripping off a enough to cover the fare–with a few extra for a tip–he tossed the money on the front seat beside the driver. He grabbed Mac's coat, and his duffel from the floor, opened the door, and stepped out onto the curb.

His heart was thundering in his chest. He could barely breathe, and though the night air was cool, sweat was pouring down his face. There was no way he was going to lose her–not this time.

He stood up strait, craning his neck to look up and down both sides of the street. Thankfully, most of the people in Paraguay were a fair bit shorter than he was. He spotted her about fifty yards away on the other side of the street as she passed beneath a lamp post. The bright scarlet colour of her shirt made her stand out amongst the more plainly dressed locals.

"Mac!" he yelled. 'Wait!" but she never turned or slowed.

As the taxi they had ridden in pulled away, Harm stepped out onto the street, dodged an old, blue Volkswagen bus, and an angry local on a motor scooter as he rushed across. Leaving the cursing scooter driver in his wake he turned the direction Mac had gone and took off running.

He ran strait up the middle of the sidewalk, shouldering anyone too slow out of the way with little more than a muttered apology. In honesty, he never even saw most of the people that he ran down–he was too focused on trying to find a spot of read in the distance.

His mind was racing. What should he say? How would he fix whatever it was that he'd broken? What was he going to have to do to get her back?

Harm stumbled as realization swept over him: he would do whatever it took to get her back. He'd thought he'd already done that–giving up JAG and the Navy to come after her–but he understood now that if more was required of him he would give it without hesitation.

With reckless abandon he increased his pace; leaving even more cursing pedestrians in his wake. He didn't even bother to apologize to them now–he had to find her, had to make things right between them.

Harm finally spotted her a short distance ahead waiting for a stooped old man pushing a handcart to exit an alley that lead onto the street. After the man had passed she marched off again–her stride was easy and purposeful. Harm doubted she knew where she was going, but the marine in her was going to make sure that she got there.

Pushing aside a nattily dressed man that was trying to sell him some tourist trinkets, Harm dashed across the alley and back into the milling throng.

She was close now, not more than a dozen yards ahead. A little girl shrieked in fear as he vaulted over the front wheel of her bicycle as she sat motionless in the middle of the sidewalk.

Mac was only a few paces away now, and when he reached her he dropped his duffel beside her–but kept her coat–and swung around in front of her, effectively blocking her path.

Panting, Harm held her coat out to her. "You forgot this." Chest heaving, he looked at her and waited.

She took at step back, a look of frank astonishment written across her face. She schooled that look quickly, putting her emotional shields back in place. When she was finished, Harm sighed; the astonished look was gone, replaced by a stoic calm that told him nothing.

Tentatively, she reached for the coat. 'Thank you," she mumbled, taking it and throwing it around her shoulders.

She just stood there, looking so small and fragile, staring at his feet. Harm tried to tilt her head so she would look at him, but she stepped away from his touch, hugging her coat more tightly around her.

All the anger, frustration and heartache he was feeling bubbled to the surface, and he grabbed her shoulders with both hands. Holding her tightly when she tried to pull away.

"Mac, talk to me, please. I don't want there to be anymore misunderstandings or miscommunications between us. Just tell me what you want me to do."

She shook her head, but said nothing.

"Then yell at me, hit me, tell me you never want to see me again, but please, don't ignore me."

She looked into his eyes then, shaking her head sadly, and it was like a dagger through his heart. "I could _never_ do those things to you."

"Then _talk_ to me," he begged.

Her head dropped, her shoulders slumping. "I can't do this anymore, Harm, please," her voice broke like shattering crystal.

"Why?" he asked softly.

"Because it hurts too much."

Harm lifted her chin with his finger, forcing her to look at him. "And you think this isn't hurting me? Mac, I'm dying inside."

He sighed heavily; there was nothing left to say now but the truth; no matter how much it hurt. "Look, I resigned my commission so I could come down here to find you; to make sure you were safe. And what did that get me?" He was just barely keeping a grip on his anger. "Sarcasm. And worse than that, I had to watch you kiss another man–I had to stand back while I lost you to another man, _again!_"

Mac was staring at him intently, and he let out a rattling breath that took his remaining anger with it. Resigning himself to his fate, Harm went on. All I ever wanted was for you to be happy," he touched her cheek lightly. "All I ever hoped was that I could be the one who _made_ you happy."

Sighing he reached down and retrieved his duffel from the sidewalk.

"If Clay can make you happy, then I am glad that you are happy. What I want and what I feel doesn't really matter anymore."

With that he slung his duffel over his shoulder, turned, and walked away.

He'd only taken about five steps when a hand came down on his wrist, jerking him to a halt, and spinning him around. Mac held his wrist in an iron grip, a look of grim determination on her face.

"Harm, why are you here?"

The need in her question nearly buckled his knees. He swallowed the huge lump in his throat. "You know the reason," he croaked.

Her eyes flashed to steel and she yanked his arm hard, pulling his head down until it was only inches from her own. "No, Harm! No, more!" He had to remember to breathe. "Why...are...you...here?" She enunciated every word clearly, and he had to swallow again. The look in her eyes told him everything: He couldn't run or dodge her anymore; it was all or nothing this time.

He took a deep breath and stepped off the edge of the cliff. "I'm here," he paused; all his hopes and dreams hinged on his next words, "because I love you."

She took a step back, letting his wrist fall from her fingers. All the colour drained from her face. Harm straitened, never taking his eyes off her. The seconds ticked by, and still she said nothing–her face was blank.

Harm was starting to worry. He had no idea what to do now. And then he saw it: a slight trembling of her bottom lip, followed quickly by a brightening of her eyes in the darkness. When a single tear started its slow journey down her cheek his heart stopped beating. Was this good or bad?

But before he could open his mouth to ask her, she launched herself at him. She hit him with the force of a charging bull, knocking his duffel from his hand. Her legs went around his waist, crossing at the ankles to drape down his six, while her arms shot around his neck, hugging him so tightly he was surprised his head didn't pop off.

"You love me?" she sounded like a little girl who was unsure whether she could believe what she had just heard.

His arms went around her back, one hand cupping the back of her head, the other hooked tightly around her waist. He drew her closer, ignoring the curious stares of the people passing them on the sidewalk, and brought his mouth to her ear, whispering. "Always and forever. With all my heart and soul."

She deflated against him, sobbing. Hot tears ran down his neck as she cried, and he clutched her tighter. After several minutes the sobbing slowed and then ceased. She pulled back to look at him, and when he saw her face his heart took off like a race horse. She wore a huge grin, and her eyes were wet but happy.

"You have no idea how long I've waited to hear you say that," she kissed his cheek.

He smiled at her–the biggest smile he could muster. "You have no idea how long I've wanted to say it to you."

She leaned in, and her lips brushed against his. Her arms constricted around his neck grinding their lips together. It wasn't exactly sweet, or tender, but it was defiantly something special.

Finally they broke apart. Mac smiled again and slipped her legs from around his waist. Releasing his neck she bent over to retrieve his duffel, handing it to him. Harm took it and flopped it over his shoulder. She extended her hand towards him and he enveloped it in his own.

They started down the sidewalk, but after a few steps Harm stopped, pulling her around to face him, but never releasing her hand.

He hated to do it, but he had to know. "What about Webb?" He asked with uncertainty–who was the little kid now?

She looked up at him and the love in her eyes nearly stopped his heart. She cupped his face with her hand, and rolled her eyes in amusement. "There is no Webb, Harm. Only you."

A huge smile split his face in two. "Really?"

Her expression turned serious again, but the love never left her eyes. "Always and forever, Harm. Always and forever."

He released her hand and shifted his duffel into his other hand. Then he tucked her against his side, his arm draped across her shoulders. She wrapped her arm around his waist and rested her head on his bicep. Smiling contentedly they turned and started down the sidewalk.

Neither knew what the future would hold, but whatever came their way, they would face it together.


End file.
